Gods that Fail

About a week and a half ago, a professor at my school killed himself. He was a jazz pianist, taught music in the conservatory, and had been having hearing problems for almost two years. It was the kind where the brain confuses music for noise like clanging pots and pans; ugly, dissonant chaos. This, in turn, caused his depression.

I didn't personally know this man, so I don't know what he was like before he began to suffer from this terrible ailment. I don't know his priorities, his joys, his lifestyle. Forgive me, but I'm going to make some assumptions in order to explain something that I think is essential to understand or at least consider.

My first two and a half years of school were spent as a music major. I eventually wised up and realized that my true passion was psychology, so I dropped out of the conservatory. During that time, though, I met quite a few other music majors. Obviously.

I was astounded at how much this people loved, adored, and worshiped music. Music was the sun their lives revolved around. In fact, I was in a class my freshman year where the professor would recite, "Music is a lifestyle," and the class would respond in unison, "...not a hobby." Many students were so enthusiastic about chanting this one line. (I, on the other hand, refused to join in. I am a very honest person and simply wouldn't renounce my lifestyle where music was, frankly, only a hobby.)

Die-hard music majors spent every spare moment in practice rooms. They got music-related tattoos. Voice majors sang operatically to themselves as they walked down the sidewalk. They only hung out with other music majors, and they only talked about music. I could barely stand to eat a meal with one of these groups because I wanted so desperately to talk about something other than music for once.

Music was their god, the god that wouldn't fail them. Music is forever. Music permeates lives; music expresses the most vibrant ecstasy and the most heart-shattering sorrows. It is full of endless possibilities yet it is unified and all-encompassing.

But sometimes, music does fail. Sometimes, music turns to clanging.

When the god of your heart fails you with no hope of ever being there for you again, what is the point of living?

Of course, music is not the only god. Many, many people worship happiness. Happiness is often seen as the highest good. We search for it, strive for it, try everything to achieve it (in some cases, mistaking it for pleasure). When it eludes us, with no hope of it ever returning or even making the smallest appearance, when depression or anxiety gets the better of us, our meaning for life has been dissolved. Our god of happiness has abandoned us.

The same can be said for love; certain relationships. How many times has a separation from a loved one, such as a divorce or death, left someone contemplating suicide?

I am sure there are plenty more examples of this.

I'm not saying that a failed god is the only motivator for suicide. The majority of suicides are an attempt to end psychological pain, a trigger that may come about in any number of ways. I theorize that one type of psychological pain results from the god of someone's heart failing them, causing loss of hope and loss of meaning.


However, I believe that I have found a god that cannot fail. That god is God.

The god of my heart is all-knowing: he understands my desires, my strengths, my thoughts, my weaknesses, my emotions, and my needs.

The god of my heart is all-loving: he will work things out for my good even when I'm not happy with it (like a parent disciplining their child out of love).

The god of my heart is all-just: he does not turn a blind eye toward evil. He breaks down sobbing alongside us when we suffer.

I understand that there is evil and suffering in this world. I know it looks like God has failed his people, his creation, because he hasn't made everything all better. But God is also all-patient: we haven't reached the end of the story yet. The clock is still ticking.

The god of my heart is all-powerful: he can do something about this. He will not fail.

The god of my heart revealed these traits when he showed Death that even it has no power over neither him nor his people.

My god is God, and he is the god that does not and will not fail. It is because of him that I have a reason to live.


If you have a hard time understanding how this can possibly be true because of the evil and suffering in this world, I recommend "The Problem of Pain" by C.S. Lewis.

If you feel like God has failed you, I would love to address it, but I can't anticipate the nuances of your situation in order to write about it here, so please email me at maryannkbennett@gmail.com and I will be happy to correspond with you about it. I'm not famous or popular or even that busy, so don't feel like it would be a burden to me to hear from you.

Thanks, as always, for reading.


God bless.

22 years

Yesterday we had a big family party celebrating:

My graduation from college
Sam's confirmation
Five birthdays (yes, five.)
Mother's day

The fact that yesterday was my actual twenty-second birthday was not overlooked despite the hubbub, but I can't say it really felt like my birthday either. Or that I now feel twenty-two instead of twenty-one.

I only pulled the "birthday girl" card once: so I could take the first turn as judge in Apples to Apples.

Then again, my birthdays have gotten progressively understated. I guess that's expected with the onset of adulthood. Maybe in five to ten years I'll be making a big deal of birthdays for my kids and my own birthday will pass by practically unnoticed. In ten years I'll be turning thirty-two. And who cares about being thirty-two?

Then again, maybe an aged Taylor Swift will have a song out about the wonders of being thirty-two like she did for twenty-two. Maybe.

Oh, yeah. If you read my last post you might be hoping for a follow-up.

Only about 3 people said anything on Facebook, and about 5 other people who couldn't be with me in person texted or called.

I'm okay with that, actually. I'm not hurt that a lot of people I'm "friends" with didn't know the significance of yesterday.

Why do I have a Facebook anyway??
...Probably because then I wouldn't know what to do with myself when I'm bored and wanted to veg. The wonders of killing time via the internet has been ingrained in me since adolescence.

Nevertheless, I don't really want to be creeped on. I want to get phone calls from people I haven't seen in a while who don't know what's going on in my life so that I can actually tell them. Or even--(gasp)--write letters!

I should probably stop saying these things because 1) this is not what this post is supposed to be about; I'm rambling 2) It's probably heresy and the internet police are going to come after me. I'm supposed to be a good little internet user with my blog and my Facebook and my multiple email accounts and my hours mindlessly wasted.

Just kidding, I want to continue my rant. Descartes introduced the idea that in order to find truth, one must doubt all they believe. If something is undeniably true, it can be kept as a belief, but everything else must undergo close scrutiny in order to discover truth. I think I tend to do this sometimes.

But I'm a total hypocrite because I literally just paused writing this post to creep on someone on Facebook that I've never met and am not friends with. It's like people-watching from the comfort of my own home.

Anyway, my birthday was yesterday and it was good despite the chaos and I think I'd like to have another one in about a year and I'm grateful to the people that remembered and wished me a happy birthday. And that's what I'm really trying to say in this post.


God bless.

Facebook Birthday

In my recent post, I mentioned my upcoming birthday.

A couple months ago, I made the decision to take my birthday off Facebook for a variety of reasons. I probably don't need to tell you what having a Facebook birthday implies, but:

Suddenly, at midnight, hundreds of your acquaintances who would not have otherwise known, are alerted that it is officially your birthday. For the next 24 hours, generic "happy birthday!" posts are splattered over your wall and you are burdened with the task of "liking" all of them, commenting on all of them, or, if you're lazy, making a status saying, "Thanks for all the birthday wishes!" The end.

Not for me. Frankly, I'd rather have a few birthday cards from the people that care enough about me to remember my birthday without assistance than to have hundreds of lame, almost thoughtless virtual greetings.

So I took it off. It's not your business to know my birthday anyway if you don't know me well enough that it never came up. It's personal, like, you don't publish your phone number on Facebook, do you? No, you let someone ask for it (I'm hoping).

I'm curious what will happen this year. I'm guessing someone will remember and write something on my wall, which other people will see and follow suit. But I still think it will be significantly fewer people. Not that this is a social experiment.

I'm not out to pity myself by any means, but I am curious to see who knows my birthday when they aren't conveniently told.

I may or may not let you all know how it went. I'm not doing this because I hate birthdays (quite the contrary), nor because I want to keep my birthday a secret. I'm doing this because I care about intimacy.


God bless.

Brief Life Update

Mere seconds ago, a bird flew into the window and scared the crap out of me (figuratively).

I have been very much a slacker about writing posts for the last month or so. I have a couple excuses for my bad behavior. 1) I have been full of school work (consisting mostly of paper-writing). 2) After all that paper-writing, I have not felt like writing much at all, even though my schedule has cleared up.

But anyway. I have graduated from college (as of yesterday). I am officially a bachelor. hahahhahaahaha...

I've been playing a lot of Candy Crush lately.

My birthday is in exactly one (1) week.

I'm going to Juneau, AK for another mission trip this summer.

I'll be moving back into my college town in July, hopefully with a job.

Now you know.


God bless.

Imperfection

Today's writing prompt from 365 Days of Writing Prompts is imperfection: "Imperfections -- in things, in people, in places -- add character to life. Tell us about an imperfection that you cherish."

Nothing came to mind right away. I initially started thinking about the things I love. (I decided to talk about a thing, not a person, because no one wants their imperfections published on the internet, even if I am saying what I like about them.)

I look around my room, think about the places I've lived, the things I have, and I really struggle to think of anything "imperfect" that I like. I don't like when my things are broken or worn out or dirty. I just don't. I tend to think that problems are meant to be fixed. I may like something with a flaw, but I don't like the flaw itself.

This prompt proves more difficult to answer than I thought it would be. I can't talk about an imperfect thing that I cherish, I have to cherish the imperfection itself.

As I think about it, I think it's much easier to love flaws in nature than to love flaws in the man-made. When the ground is dirty, we rejoice; when the carpet is dirty, we get angry. Rugged mountains are far more well-loved than even the straight, perfect edges of buildings. We hate a leaky sink but love a trickling brook.

Indeed, the only "material" thing that I found that I liked the flaw in was my hiking boots. I like that they're dirty and starting to get worn out. They bespeak the adventures I've been on. When I look at them, many fond memories come to mind. If they were still new and shiny, the only memory associated with them would be when I bought them in the store.

So the only reason I love an imperfection on a man-made thing is because of its natural associations.

In nature, art, and people, flaws can be beautiful and celebrated. The man-made world strives for perfection, and this is the world we live in and strive for. Why?


God bless.

Why I Didn't Give Anything Up for Lent

Happy mid-Lent everybody. I hope you're having a wonderfully somber time.

Really, though, every year since I was about eleven I have done something for Lent. I started out when I was younger by doing easy things like giving up chocolate. It was a good start to getting me in the practice of spiritual disciplines.

When I got older, I started doing harder things, like committing to reading my Bible every day, giving up meat, committing to being in bed by 11 p.m. every night, or fasting one day a week. I tried to keep these things pretty secretive when I was doing them because of their introspective nature. I share them with you now so that 1) you can see that Lent does not need to be confined to giving up pop or something like that 2) you can see where I stand on this: I am all for spiritual disciplines. I don't intend to flaunt my spirituality either, because I've definitely flubbed up on some of those commitments or had a hard time finding the spiritual benefit in them.

This year, I had several ideas for what I could do. My problem (if you could call it that) is that I often take things literally, like when I considered taking a vow of silence or when I cut my dreads, to name a few instances. I also have a weird desire to be a radical, to live out my beliefs as practically and externally as possible, not to prove a point to anybody, but because it's the right thing to do, the most genuine way to live.

I think that's why I admire Chris McCandless so much. He had passionate beliefs, like hunger is wrong and money causes greed. So after graduating college, he donated his $24,000 of savings to Oxfam and lived an intentionally minimalistic life for his remaining two years. Maybe his lifestyle is not the one I would strive for, but he acted on his beliefs, and that, to me, is incredibly important. I'm convinced that he found his life to be very meaningful and fulfilling. I can only hope to live as genuinely as him. Same with Jesus.

Anyway, I had all these ideas for changing myself, but was having a hard time finding both spiritual merit and practicality behind any of them.

It was Ash Wednesday and I still didn't have anything. Church was an emotional time for me that night, and I realized during the service that my efforts to change myself are futile. As I experienced last summer and fall, God is capable of radically transforming my heart where my own efforts failed.

So I gave it up and decided, fine, let's see how God changes me.

I can't look back and say yet what has changed, but I do think he is helping me to recognize my sin and repent. I don't really know what else. We'll see.


God bless.

Roles

The woman who took my order at dinner's name was Ebony. It struck me as a lovely name, and it inspired this poem, which really has nothing to do with the name.

Ebony heels

Click through the doorway.

An ebony pencil skirt

Plops onto the couch.

An ebony soul

Bares itself.

Pink eyes

Drop tears onto

Pink-ink notes

Observed by

A pink soul.

Deep purple

Is the enmeshment

Of an ebony and pink embrace.

God bless.